


Life and Time

by alleythefandomjunkie1112



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Amelie deserves better, Angst, Assassins with feelings, Ballet, Dancing to forget, Don't mess with the angel, Emily is now just friends with Tracer, Enemies to Respected Humans to Friends-ish to sorta Lovers?, F/F, Forgive my hot mess, Gabe needs to learn to calm tf down, Gen, Get together (ish?), He may have an alterior motive, I'm a Widow main so don't hurt my baby, I'm not making my girl be a homewrecker, Jack and Gabe sitting in a tree..., Lucio is a competitive mess, Men Being Stupid, Moira is a little in love with anime, My First Fanfic, Reaper is an edgelord, Sibling Death, Slow Burn, Tracer can be a little shit, Widowmaker may not be too cold, idk how to tag this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-07-15 18:40:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16068986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alleythefandomjunkie1112/pseuds/alleythefandomjunkie1112
Summary: Amelie is not as cold as she seems. Tracer is a bean. Assassins and heroes. That's basically it because I'm bad at summaries without writing an entire book. Dedicated in the Memory of Leonard “Allen” Masterson, a WWII veteran who passed away at 99 years old.





	1. Chapter 1

 The kickback of the gun in her hand was a welcome and almost comforting sensation. The trail of the bullet meant it was time to go; otherwise she’d be discovered. But she couldn’t resist a momentary glimpse below to observe the chaos of people running for cover and panicking bodyguards wildy pointing their guns upwards, nowhere near where she was perched on the roof of a 15-story brick building. Breathing in deeply, savoring the well of emotions rising up in her, she shot her grappling hook across a few lower buildings to make her exit.

Her employer would have a car there at the rendezvous point in thirty minutes, leaving her alone to her post-job thoughts. Today was a bad day, the whisper of the girl she once was echoed like a voice in a cavern throughout her head. _Look what you’ve become: a monster. A shell of a human who takes thrill in killing someone. You sit around and train when you aren’t taking a job. You have no friends or family. Everyone and everything that once meant the world to you have become means to an end. Do you really want to continue a life of death and solitude? All you can do is destroy. You no longer find beauty in anything, just satisfaction of a job well-done._

For a moment she wondered, if maybe, just maybe, she could become the woman she once was. But a voice on her comm reminded her that she was broken; a shell, a murderess, a cold-hearted assassin with no hope or chance of redemption.

“Widowmaker, a car will be there in five minutes. Stay low and out of sight.” Reaper’s voice growled over the channel.

She bit her tongue, holding back a reply that would surely send her back to reprogramming. If only she had been stronger, if only she’d died while in their care. Gerard would find the person who’d she become despicable. But as Amelie Lacroix he would never pull the trigger on her. She was a monster living inside the skin of someone who meant the world to some people. People she knew she would not hesitate to kill should her handlers order her to. Amelie Lacroix was dead. She was nothing but a whisper living in her own mind.

The proof to that was her blue skin, a barely beating heart, and a rifle. Though it was winter, she could barely feel the sting of the frosty air. If she was allowed emotion she would dare say she missed it; feeling anything to remind her that she was once human. But that would never happen. She was the perfect weapon, the perfect sniper. She held no remorse for any of her kills.

A black SUV pulled up near her. She jumped through the window, landing easily on the icy ground. With a cursory glance to her surroundings, she slid into the vehicle and sat still, once more throwing herself further into the state she was forced to be; a deadly monster with impeccable aim.

*

Once back at the base, she immediately jumped out of the car and walked quickly but not too fast as to not draw any unnecessary attention to herself. Once back in her room, she relaxed and let out a sigh. She grabbed a change of clothes and a towel before going into her private bathroom to grab a bath. If anyone ever asked why she always took a shower after a job, she would always reply with she hated the feeling of dirt from perching in her hideout. In actuality, if even she was honest with herself, it was to be rid of the ghostly remnants of the soul she had released from its corporeal form.

The feeling of soap cascading off her body, taking away the grime both mentally and physically felt orgasmic and she nearly moaned when the hot water rushed over her body. Numbness aside, even Widowmaker, the deadly Talon assassin lived to feel the warm caress of water flowing over every curve her form had to offer. When she was done washing up, she slid into a loose hoodie and a pair of yoga pants. She would never leave her room like this of course. No one would ever see her vulnerable because the second she was, she would be useless and consequently disposed of. For all they had taken, Talon was her only home now. She had nowhere to go back to.

The deed to her maiden names’ ancestral home Chateau Guillard, was up for grabs with her parents gone and no living siblings. She had been considering for a long while buying back or stepping up to the rights of the land; perhaps it would be a good idea to slip out of Talon’s claws for some time. She remembered the way that she and her younger sister Ciel used to laugh and play hide and seek throughout the winding passages of the stone castle.

Ciel. Her younger sister had meant the world to her. The two girls were inseparable. Amelie and Ciel would play together, walk together, and just about anything that didn’t violate personal privacy. But those were times before the Omnic Crisis. Before a secret trip to the shore of the mainland resulted in Ciel’s death. No matter what anyone said, whether blaming or soothing, Amelie never forgave herself. So with nothing else to do, grief and loneliness threatening to consume her very essence, she turned to ballet. The available funds from her family’s wealth ensured her having top teachers on her journey. Eventually Amelie found herself standing on stages nationwide, then internationally. Her strength, grace, and beauty lured the Overwatch agent Gerard Lacroix. The pair eventually became a couple and got married.

Amelie should have known better than to fall in love with an Overwatch agent tasked with bringing down a terrorist organization. Yet the same dark drive to experience the thrill of danger brought her in like a moth to a flame. The same drive that had ended up in her younger sister’s untimely death years before.

The same thrill coursed through Widowmaker’s veins, one of the few things remaining of the person she had been. Only this time, the dark thrill was first hand and provided by dealing out death like a card dealer at a casino. She reclined onto the beanbag pile she had tossed haphazardly in the corner of her quarters. The colors matched her room, deep blues and gentle browns with purple and black mixed in. The walls were deep purple with blue violet swirls hidden within the paint.

She pulled her hair back and made a messy bun with the elastic band she had on her slender wrist. Widowmaker blindly reached for her headphones and plugged them into her ipod. Of course the song that came on was Medieval Warfare; one she found quite fitting. The deadly assassin closed her eyes and let the electric sounds surround her, lulling her into sleep.

* * *

 

The wind ripped through her already wild hair, swirling the surprisingly long brown hair in the air. With a playful giggle, she zipped throughout the track, thoroughly annoying her DJ friend.

“I swear you’re doing this to annoy me.” Lucio grumbled, lips twitching in an effort to hide a growing smile.

“Please, love. I only have one speed--fast. Sorry if you can’t keep up!” Tracer chirped as she passed him again.

“Fine! You aren’t ready for this! I’ve been holding back to make you feel good!” The renowned DJ yelled without thinking.

The British brunette stopped in front of him, eyebrow raised.

“The purpose of this is training and you’ve been holding back this whole time? Not a good move, Lucio. Impress me, then.”

“Um...Fine!” The Brazilian man regretted speaking before thinking again. Now he was backed into a corner where he had no choice but to pull something out of thin air.

He shakily began to skate, but upon hearing Lena’s laugh he became determined to do something he never did; super sonic skating. It was really dangerous but he had to do something to show he had been bluffing. With a sigh he resigned to it.

Tracer knew he had nothing up his sleeve but taunted him anyway. She had no idea what he was planning until she heard only what could be described as a resigned noise.

“Wait! Lucio don’t--”

The revving of an engine was audible throughout the room and a yelling was heard as the DJ was thrown across the room at the speed of sound. With a smack that had Lena flinching, Lucio slammed into the wall. His cursing was audible and Lena blinked over to him.

“You men and your need to back up everything or maintain your pride. Yet another reason I date girls.” Lena said, offering the injured DJ a hand.

“Yeah, well… I actually have nothing to say to that right now because I really need a medic. You got Angie’s number?”

“‘Course I do, love. You just stay right here,” she said whilst blinking to the chairs across the room. “I’ll call her and see if she can come and help you out.”

Running to the locker room, Lena grabbed her phone and dialed Mercy’s number.

“Ziegler {here/reporting for duty},” Angela’s soft yet authoritative voice came from the phone.

“Hey Angie! Lena here….um, Lucio and I were training and--”

“Did you {idiots} race and then Lucio decided to try super sonic skating resulting in a potentially serious injury?” Mercy asked, already sounding like she knew the answer to her question.

“Um, not exactly… I mean, technically… but not really… Fine! Yes we were. I was teasing him and he had to try to outdo me and then he sped right into a wall. He chose to do it. It’s not like I forced him into it.” Tracer said, trying to sound like nothing bad really happened before giving up.

“You heroes are a bunch of fools. Always trying to one-up each other.” Angela said with an exasperated but fond sigh.

“So can you come and check him out?”

“Of course. The second you mentioned you guys were training I left the med quarters. I’ve seen enough injuries that have come out of an arm wrestle between Genji and Jesse battling their cybernetic enhancements. Imagine the trouble two speedsters could get into. There’s a reason I’m an internationally known doctor. These degrees aren’t just for show and not everybody can get them.”

“Sorry Angie. It was an accident.”

“I know. I’m rounding the corner.”

The line clicked off; ever since Overwatch disbanded many heroes had nowhere to go. Mercy, being the ultimate guardian angel, as a renowned doctor had a lot of money that she didn’t have a need for. So she built a compound for any old Overwatch agents who needed a home or a place to train to go to. Tracer frequented the site hoping to reconnect with old agents she had known. Unfortunately, many of them found solace in becoming vigilantes, leaving Tracer alone. Of course, Lena did what she could but no longer actively fought like she did. If a problem was in front of her, she would not ignore it but she didn’t seek out trouble. Like what happened with Mundatta, the Omnic monk who she failed to save. It was an experience serving as a brutal reminder that the world still needed the heroes they once relied on and now despised.

Talon was still existing and no one would stop them. If Tracer couldn’t defeat a single sniper like Widowmaker, then who could? Given the spider was highly-trained and a top agent it was understandable for even Tracer to fail to take her out. Lena’s guilt was still present that she failed to protect an important figure who wanted a step towards peace between Omnics and humans.

A question that still haunted her was why the deadly assassin let her live. Lena as Tracer was an enemy of Talon, so shouldn’t Widowmaker have ended her life? She shook her head and blinked back to Lucio, forcing her mind to postpone any thoughts like she had been having.

*

Lucio was thankfully not seriously injured; however, his ears were probably bleeding from Mercy scolding him like a disappointed mother. Lena stayed to be sure Lucio was alright even though Mercy told him he only sprained his wrist and would probably have severe bruising from smacking into the wall at such a high speed.

“I’m sorry, love! Let me know what I can do to make it up to you?” Tracer asked, desperation and concern laced in her voice.

“Maybe let me win next time?” The DJ asked with a hopeful tone.

“Ha. We’ll see. You okay getting back to your room?”

“Yes, mom.” He said with an eye roll.

Lena stuck her tongue out before blinking away back to her room. She blindly grabbed some clothes out of her comfy clothes drawer and dashed to the bathroom to take a shower. Winston had tweaked her chronal accelerator so it would be okay in water for about an hour before serious damage occurred.

She sort of missed being able to soak in a bath and relax after a long day at work but, alas, that would most likely never happen again. The brunette sighed as warm water hit her skin, washing away any sweat she had from working out with her friend. Her thoughts raced back to what she had been pondering earlier--why on Earth did Widowmaker spare her? Yes, the deadliest sniper damaged Tracer’s chronal accelerator but the sniper should have known that damaging it wouldn’t have killed the British girl. But maybe she didn’t? Yet that did not sound right. If Talon kept an eye on ex-Overwatch agents, then they would have informed their employees of said agents’ talents and abilities.

The blue-skinned spider was an assassin who only needed one shot to kill her targets. Tracer had been up close to her, and on top of her, but the Talon agent could have easily used Lena’s emotional burst to her advantage and killed her. She remembered it vividly...

_They were racing along the rooftops, Tracer chasing after a surprisingly talented and fast Widowmaker. The deadly spider launched herself across a space between buildings and landed in a flip. The brunette Brit was too focused on taking the assassin out before Mundatta was killed to notice that a venom mine had been shot onto the chimney where Widow had rolled by. The poisonous gas creeped into Lena’s lungs, making her cough and trip, sliding across the roof. She felt the cold muzzle of a gun and a sultry yet dangerous voice promising nothing but pain saying something._

_“Such a sweet, foolish girl,” a voice smooth as silk and seductive as all hell purred._

_A small smile graced Tracer’s face as she used her recall and went back to when she originally crossed over the building, only this time, she blinked up over the chimney and landed, shooting the_

_“What’s that?” Tracer said, confidently._

_She landed and spun, releasing her pulse bomb and throwing it in Widowmaker’s direction. However, the spider saw it and shot it, the blast sending both women off the roof. Tracer’s expression was of shock, whilst Widowmaker’s was smug. The Talon sniper’s rifle was in scope mode. With one eye closed, falling through the air more than one hundred feet off the ground, the deadly assassin pulled the trigger, the bullet going through Tracer’s chronal accelerator. Instinctively, the Brit tried to curl up and stop the bullet but wasn’t fast enough. Both ladies landed on a lower roof top._

_“Looks like the party is over,” Widowmaker’s sultry voice laced with smugness said._

_Tracer heard the cries of panic and the beginning of mayhem below. With a sinking sense of foreboding in her stomach, the young woman raced over to the edge of the roof to look below. She saw the body of Mundatta collapsed inside the limo he was getting into._

_“No, no, no. No, no, no, no!” Tracer said, each ‘no’ getting louder._

_She tackled the assassin who moved along with her, tumbling until they reached the other side of the roof. Tracer didn’t notice how Widowmaker shot her grappling hook onto a chimney on the roof. Once they reached the other edge, the spider just looked at her._

_“Why?! Why would you do this?” Tracer said, punctuating her first ‘why’ by moving closer into the sniper’s face._

_The beautiful blue-skinned woman only let out a low, snarky chuckle. Suddenly, Tracer was pulled even closer by the assassin who only whispered, “Adieu, cherie.”_

_Before Lena could even react, she was being thrown over the edge of the building where Widowmaker slammed her into the structure's side. Tracer let out a groan as her chronal accelerator began to spark. She glimpsed the deadly woman swinging up back over the roof’s edge and was blinded by a bright light before passing out._

* * *

 

The crackle over the room cut over the chorus of Death of a Bachelor by Panic! at the Disco.

“Widowmaker.”

“Widowmaker, au rapport.”

“We have a new mission. Doomfist’s gauntlet needs to be retreived from an Overwatch museum.”

The sniper hid in an exasperated sigh. She hadn’t even been in her room for--she checked the time on her phone--four hours. Whatever. It wasn’t like her body functioned normally; a weapon meant for sniping meant sleep became a luxury and necessary for survival. So she simply got up, grabbed her spare suit, buckled up her boots, equipped her hook and venom mine, strapped on her leg pouch, and slid on her gloves. She slipped into the bathroom to apply a thin layer of lip gloss and touched up her eyeshadow. The spider adjusted her hair into a ponytail and assembled her head set. She grabbed her weapon and walked out of her room, making sure to throw on her seductive mask she showed the world by sashaying herr hips slightly when walking towards the ships. The assassin knew some agents she passed by watched her as she walked beyond them; yet when she glanced back over her shoulder, the onlookers made a point of busying themselves with a file they had or fiddling with a strap on their uniform. A smirk crossed her lips. At least those idiots knew that a beautiful thing would kill them if they dared touch her. The doors to the ship storage slid open in front of her, a masked Reaper standing right there. Even she had never seen him without his mask on. Sombra, despite being a pain in her ass, knew stuff but anytime Widow brought it up in passing, the sassy Mexican woman just smirked and said that he was so famous that everyone knew him in their community. Though Widowmaker would never admit it, she was frustrated by Sombra’s reply. It didn’t make any sense. Of course he was well known; he was the best mercenary they had--he even held a position on Talon’s board.

Regardless, she gave him a brisk nod before walking to the jet that was running. Reaper drifted in seconds after she boarded. He settled into the pilot seat, silent and stoic as usual. Much like her, he never allowed himself to express any emotion except the occasional frustrated tone of voice.

The ride was silent, the aircraft filled with the hum of the engines. She felt the plane settle, unstrapping herself as it landed. Reaper was already waiting at the open doors, foot tapping impatiently.

“Let’s go in and get out. No need for--”

His voice was cut off by an animalistic growl. Widow looked up, eyes widening as she saw a monkey flying through the air. Her focus being temporarily distracted, she didn’t notice the blue blur until she heard a playful giggle. Her body tensed before she instinctively raised her rifle and began shooting. When she didn’t land any blow despite having practiced everyday since her meeting with the infamous British agent, Tracer. She didn’t want to admit it to herself but she was impressed by the girl’s talent. If Tracer had been an active agent in the field constantly, she would have had a strong chance at beating the deadly sniper. Yet the spider could tell that the girl had been training hard since she had encountered her. Widowmaker repressed her begrudging respect for the ex-Overwatch agent, and decided it was her duty to continue the duel between them. She left Winston to Reaper; the phantom had a score to settle and who was a lowly sniper to step in to help him?

“I’m touched. You trained after meeting me?” Widow purred, forcing her voice to sound like velvet.

“Hah. Don’t flatter yourself, love. I’ve been training to take down the entire Talon organization. You aren’t even worth my attention.” The typically optimistic time-traveler quipped in a frustrated tone.

“Ow. How you hurt my feeling, cherie. At least I will admit, for a child, you are not too bad. I’ll take pleasure in killing you. I should have done it when I had the chance.” The assassin replied.

For some reason the brunette’s words touched something within her. But Widowmaker knew that she wouldn’t kill Tracer. She was perplexed by the girl who cared so much for a hunk of metal she didn’t even know personally.

The brunette let out a dry laugh.

“You’ll have to catch me first!”

“I’m heading toward the museum. The ape is on my tail. Meet me there.” Reaper’s voice growled over the comms.

“More like you’ll have to keep up with me.” Widow purred and looked up to a tree that was as far as her hook could reach.

With a curl of her lips, she shot her grappling hook and flew up and quickly landed in the tree. Like her spider counterpart, the sniper gracefully moved from tree to tree, going towards the museum just below the hillside. She could hear curses below her as she shot her hook just after barely retracting it, swinging branch to branch. Eventually she saw the building and shot her hook at that. Upon reaching the roof, the surface shook beneath the rampaging monkey and the deadly mercenary’s battle. With a crash, Winston was thrown through the roof. Widow quickly followed, jumping through the hole and shooting her hook at a ledge so she didn’t smack onto the ground. She caught sight of black mist floating through the hole and instead focused on occupying the overgrown monkey whilst Reaper snuck up on him. She caught sight of some children; bitterly she thought about how she would never have kids in her state, she had always wanted them but now would probably be unable to conceive, much less care for a child.

She purposely avoided shooting the youngest one--even if she was a merciless monster, she would never pull the trigger on a child, perhaps a teenager, but never a child. She was glad the ape jumped in the way of her bullets, blocking the kids so she could pretend as if she was purposely trying to kill them. When Reaper jumped in and started engaging with the monkey, she saw the kids dash behind a pillar, hiding as quick as they could. She could easily hit them but decided that if her superiors asked why she didn’t, she would respond with saying she was not ordered to kill them and therefore would be breaking orders by taking the focus off the gauntlet.

Moving her rifle, recon visor activated, she caught sight of the gauntlet. Her visor retracted.

“There you are.” Widowmaker whispered to herself.

“Pst. Whatcha lookin’ at?” A happy voice chirruped from behind her.

Widow frowned, knowing who popped in but glanced to her side, eyes widening, before she leapt backwards off the ledge to avoid the British heroine. She shot her grappling hook up and glided down to the ground, shooting at Tracer who giggled and flipped, pulling her own guns out smoothly midair.She returned fire to the self-widowed Frenchwoman. Widow swayed to avoid getting hit. As the young ex-pilot blinked around her, Widow followed her path, spraying bullets. The athletic brunette vaulted over a display and hid behind it. Widow switched her focus back onto the active threat; the overgrown monkey. She shot as the enormous creature launched himself into the air. She jumped back milliseconds before the ape hit the ground, the force of his landing cracking the floor. Widow continued firing as Reaper fired his own shots at ‘Winston’ as she heard Tracer call before the monkey threw the time traveller through the air. The Brit spun and let out an excited woo-hoo as she dodged Widow’s bullets. widow responded by grappling backwards a little, still firing at the younger girl who had taken a few shots of her own. Then, Tracer’s focus drifted to Reaper who she began shooting at. widow stayed out of the wraith’s way, noticing her was about to death blossom. She should have realized the foolish girl was going to try to get involved. She watched helplessly as Tracer took a bullet to the chronal accelerator, forcing the optimistic hero to retreat behind a display.

Widowmaker forced her attention back onto the gauntlet, breaking the glass casing around it. Just before she could touch it, she heard a roar and instinctively turned her attention to the sound. She noticed Tracer got back into the fight and leet the ghost of a smirk grace her lips. She activated her recon visor and began shooting at the two heroes fighting Reaper. When she turned to glance at the gauntlet after retracting her visor, an odd feeling of foreboding in her mind, a confused look graced her face when she saw it was gone. She looked around, knowing it could not have just disappeared. Now on guard, she hoisted her rifle and moved slowly and carefully around the exhibit, scanning the area as she walked. A child’s voice made her turn around.

“Watch out!” A childish voice called.

Immediately, Widow reactivated her visor, weapon raised.

“Hey!” A deeper voice yelled from next to her.

She glimpsed a teenage boy before a sudden force threw her across the room and into a holovid projector. The force with which it was hit, broke it; Widow found herself bouncing on the floor and reacted by controlling her body movements by rolling. She climbed to her feet, a little bit slower than usual. She was annoyed but also touched by the actions this boy had taken to protect the others. That was why, yes she picked up her rifle, but she was not going to pull the trigger. The enraged Winston hopped in front of her, sparing her the questions Talon might ask regarding her not pulling the trigger. She began firing at the monkey but Tracer grabbed the barrel of her rifle and, with a giggle, twisted. She kicked it out of Widowmaker’s grasp and blinked upwards, grabbing the gun and firing at the spider queen. Amelie deemed it a lost cause to try to get her gun back. She didn’t even have to look at Reaper to know that he would go when she did. So, not wanting to stay, she shot her hook up and swung out of the building and onto the roof, Reaper holding onto her as smoke.

The monkey chased after them, but Widow glanced back and a sliver of disappointment pierced through her when she didn’t see the brown spiky hair of Tracer. The two Talon assassins barely made it back to the ship, Winston hot on their trail. The monkey nearly leapt up and broke a wing but the ship escaped narrowly. The spider let out a practically inaudible sigh. Of course she was disappointed that the gauntlet was not retrieved but was also almost relieved to not have hurt the children. Her mind flitted back to what the younger boy had said.

  _Amelie was dancing in the street, laughing and spinning a poor orphan around with her. The other boy was giggling and moving with herr. Ciel watched amused at her older sister’’s antics. She did not want to stop Amelie; she looked happy which was a sight reserved only for Ciel most of the time. She glanced at her watch and winced. Amelie bounded over with a toothy grin and pulled her into the dancing children. Ciel nearly lost her balance but was quickly surrounded by a swarm of kids all laughing as they danced. The sisters quickly forgot about getting home before someone noticed their disappearance. Eventually, Ciel was tired and stepped out to recline against the wall. She closed her eyes for a moment and opened them to see a band of Omnics quickly approaching the children who were oblivious to the encroaching danger._

_“Watch out!” Ciel screamed._

_Amelie heard her sister’s voice over the loud laughter of the children and followed her gaze to where her sister was pointing. She let out a scream and all the children stopped and turned. They saw the robots and began to run. The mechanical menaces raised weapons and began firing. Amelie ran to her sister but upon reaching where she had last seen her, lost her in the crowd._

_“Ciel? Ciel? Ciel!” Amelie screamed._

_She glanced around wildly before hearing a round of bullets fire towards her. She curled up into the fetal position and prepared for bullets to shred her skin. But they never came. She opened one eye and began screaming._

_Her sister lay on the ground in front of her, shaking and whimpering. She was bleeding out._

_“Amy? I’m sorry.” Were Ciel’s last words._

_Numbly, Amelie got up, and climbed over the fence in the nearby alleyway, her sister’s corpse thrown over her shoulder._

_“Hold on Ciel. I’ll get you home and bandage you up.” Amelie said, running towards the boat they had taken from the docks under the house, refusing to accept Ciel was gone._


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> K. So this chapter has a scene that has a homophobic scene by a Talon agent that might be upsetting (though it's not as bad as a lot of other scenes I've read that have a warnin regarding the same thing). Just a heads up. Otherwise enjoy the show folks.

Tracer surprised even herself when she angrily slammed her bedroom door shut. She slid down the oak surface and put her face in her hands. How dare that assassin escape. Again. For some reason this second failure to take down the seductive spider bothered her to a point she wanted to tear something apart.   
This feeling was something so unfamiliar to her that she was scared. It was wrong. She had never been this angry at someone before--not like this.   
What was it about the spider queen who put the ass and sin in assassin?   
She shook her head. Why the hell was she thinking a heartless killer was attractive? She fell for Emily, a sweet redhead who was a calming force to counter Tracer’s battleworn days. Her ex-girlfriend was the exact opposite of the blue skinned succubus who killed for pleasure in a terrorist organization.   
She took a deep, shaky breath. This was a learning experience. Third time’s the charm, right?  
She shot up to her feet and steeled herself to go train harder; she was not going to get beaten another time.  
With that thought in her mind, she went to the training rooms.  
*  
“Heya, darlin’” McCree’s Southern accent drawled. He was leaning against the target range gates.  
“What’s up, Jesse?” Tracer said, forcing herself to smile and be happy.  
He looked at her intently. She suddenly felt like she was being put under a magnifying glass and was getting dissected by the gunslinger. He finally responded.  
“Heard what happened. Figured ya’d turn up here eventually. And I’m the resident gun expert so…” He trailed off with a shrug.  
“I don’t need help.” Tracer huffed, dropping her facade and bumping past him.  
“That don’t mean we’re not gonna try to help ya. Yer around a bunch of stubborn, compassionate asses who are battleworn but rely on each other. And I can’t believe I just said that out loud.” McCree ended with a fake gag but outstretched a bent arm.  
Tracer couldn’t help but let out a genuine giggle, latching her own arm through McCree’s. The two walked into the range, both feeling a sense of relief at being able to drown out their tsunami of emotions towards people they shouldn’t harbor except for hatred and anger. That unspoken sense of almost kinship kept them distracted as they laughed all the while peppering holes into practice bots.  
***  
“What the hell was that, Amelie?” Reaper roared.   
The mission had ended unsuccessfully and the Board was furious and concerned that one of their most powerful weapons had defected. The thought of being sent to reprogramming almost made her puke--but she would have puked after killing two children.   
“What was what, La Morte?” Widow responded, forcing as much ice as she could in her tone. She raised a perfectly arched brow and didn’t flinch even as the wraith slammed the wall above her head.   
“You didn’t shoot the damned British girl. You could have. But you did not. You are a fucking assassin for Talon! You don’t miss. Yet, you manage to miss the shot that would mean the most. Taking down Tracer would have hurt the morale of the Recalled Overwatch agents. Now more are going to rally together and come after us.” Reaper sounded on the verge of yelling.  
The mercenary never yelled. He growled. He screamed. He laughed, albeit darkly. He fought with no mercy. But he never once raised his voice. She had never heard him yell in a rant or emotional outburst.  
What had hit a nerve?  
After a split second of indecisiveness, the French woman found herself speaking.  
“You’re worried about Morrison.” She stated.  
Suddenly, she felt the cold muzzle of a gun press against her forehead. She could easily escape but she found herself not wanting to. A seed of pity planted in her chest for the man standing in front of her. She forced a smug smile to grace her face.  
“You know nothing of what happened.” The wraith snarled in her face.  
A sliver of something she had not tasted in a while blossomed inside her--fear. She now understood what made Reaper so scary. It wasn’t his appearance or his abilities. It was the raw emotion that he emanated in close quarters. There was pain in him, a pain that was nearly impossible to heal except by the one who created it. Yet to Reaper, his wounds were inflicted by himself. By becoming what he believed to be a monster. He never would allow for Morrison to take the blame.   
His reaction confirmed what she had been suspecting--he was Gabriel Reyes.  
“I know that you are a broken ghost of a man. That you don’t know what to do with the feelings that you hold for him--ones you never acknowledged, ones that made you push him away. Now you are in an eternal battle with him, Soldier: 76 and The Reaper, soldiers of an unending war of emotions.” She stared into the dark pits where Reaper’s eyes would have been, unblinking.  
They looked at each other for what may have been a minute or an hour, an unspoken conversation flowing between them.   
Reaper finally lowered the shotguns and took a step back. Then he exploded into black smoke. Widowmaker moved only after she was certain the shadow walker was gone. She was sure Sombra knew what she had just learned. Amelie just prayed to whatever deity might listen to a monster with an overflow of red in her ledger that the rest of Talon did not learn of Reaper’s weakness. Or the fact he was at the very least bisexual; she would never wish what would happen if the Board found out on anyone.   
*  
“What is this?” A voice said in a way that left what should have been a question, rhetorical.  
“I’m not sure. We were reprogramming and we found this picture.”  
“Scrap the fucking thing. That’s disgusting. Unless Doctor O’Deorain can work a miracle.” Another voice said, disgust dripping with each word. “We have no use of a creature that is weakened by attraction to two genders.”  
Amelie couldn’t pay attention to anything else but heard a scream from a source of warmth next to her. She prayed to God that her kidnappers never learned about her own past.  
*  
Her skin crawled at the memory. To this day she had no idea who the poor soul was and she almost did not want to know. Thank God for some operatives thinking that she was straight because she had married and loved a man.  
They had removed her attraction to men to make sure sexual desires would not influence her pulling the trigger; they did not realize she liked women as well as men, leaving her vulnerable to sexual desire towards other women. It was one thing that she never mentioned, something exclusive to her. It was the one remnant of Amelie that she kept close to her and that she would not want to give up; in a twisted way, it was the only thing that kept her human and she hated it but she loved that she was not just a mindless weapon that Talon wanted her to be. It was her own way of protesting against what they had done to her.  
She wandered the halls looking for something to distract herself with and smirked when she saw Sombra; maybe today would be fun.  
“Hola, amiga,” called out the Mexican hacker.   
Sombra was perched on the staircase banister in the Talon base, her trademark smug smile plastered on her face.   
“Look what we have here; an annoyance. What drives you to pester me today?” Widow asked, faking an exasperated sigh.   
“You wound me, Mela.” Sombra said, exaggeratingly leaning back, clutching her chest.  
WIdowmaker walked past her, pretending that she did not want Sombra to follow her. She had a feeling the hacker knew that she was lonely and bugged her in order to give the French woman a social outlet.  
“Anyways, I heard how the mission went; I know--” Sombra said while sliding off the railing.  
Amelie swivelled to face the hacker.  
“You know nothing, Sombra.” she snarled, reacting without even thinking.  
“Whoa. Easy there, amiga. You’re starting to sound like Gabe. That poor man can’t even decide what he is feeling or what to do with that ball of emotions inside him. Pobrecito.” Sombra, said shaking her head with a sad look on her face.  
“You think he has more than a single emotion? Something other than pure, unadulterated rage?” Amelie asked, a single eyebrow raised in doubt.   
Sombra let out a small laugh.  
“Oh, he has quite the opposite problem, Mela. He has so much emotion; confusion and fear are what make him into a monster. The poor man can't catch a break. He did what he had to do and now he is in pain, suffering the consequences of his choices.” The Mexican hacker’s voice trailed off, eyes becoming distant.   
“You almost sound like you speak from experience.” Widowmaker replied, uncomfortable with the raw emotions. She tried to do what she was used to; be cold. It worked.  
Sombra’s brows flinched the tiniest bit and though you could tell it was masking something, her smile was bulletproof.   
“Amelie Lacroix, if anyone can understand him it is you.” And with that, the other woman disappeared with a smirk and a wave of her hand.   
Amelie let out a deep sigh and tried to push away the words that resonated within her. She stalked down the corridor and found herself in the practice range.   
She haunted this place like it was her second home. Aside from her room, she spent a majority of her time in the range, clearing her mind with every shot.   
Lining up the crosshairs on the first bot, she blinked slowly and pulled the trigger. The satisfying metallic ring of the collapsed target was reassuring. When all else failed, the cold assassin could rely on her aim and ability to get the mission done.   
But could she get the mission done?  
She tried to shake the thought from her mind, focusing on a new target and shooting again. Then, she launched herself onto the nearest ledge and crouched there, aiming again.   
How can I keep being confident in my abilities if I show weakness?   
She found herself almost hesitating but shook her head and took the shot. The sounds of the gun going off ricocheted against the blank, sterile walls.   
Well how ironic; the practice is clean and sterile but it never prepares you for the blood spray, the weight that is supposed to sit on your shoulders, or the acknowledgement of the fact a living person died.   
Again, she changed position, hanging upside down, echoing the position she had been in before her shot was delayed by the young girl with spiky brown hair and innocent brown eyes. She lined up another shot and kept shooting in that position until she felt that she could land another hit in the same way.   
“At this rate, we’ll run out of bots.” A deep voice boomed from below.   
Upon catching sight of the man, Widow’s eyes widened and she immediately droppers down, sticking the landing before righting herself. She inclined her head in greeting, showing respect.   
“I trust you have reflected on your shortcomings?” The tall, imposing Nigerian man asked, a brow raised and eyes sharp.   
“Yes, sir. I do not know what came over me. I realize I have failed Talon. Are you here to remove me from your service?” Widow already knew the answer but she craved the opposite to what she knew the response would be.   
“Despite your recent lapse in achievement, the council and I have decided that you will remain. Ms. Lacroix, you are the best sniper on the planet. I do believe that you need to submit yourself to more reprogramming. That was the one thing that was decided upon.” Akande said stoically.   
“And if I don't?” The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them. Her eyes widened in horror.   
What the hell? Why? How did I even...What?  
Thoughts raced through her mind and she realized she was actually...afraid.   
Doomfistlooked down at her blankly and apologies flooded from her mouth.   
“I am sorry sir! I will go to Dr. O’Deorain immediately!”   
Suddenly, a rumbling laugh escaped the towering man. Amelie braced herself, ready for the worst; but it never came. The man just kept laughing. Eventually, his episode halted and he fixed her with a scrutinizing stare.  
“I'll tell them that you went through reprogramming. The doctor seems to want to see just where this little crack in programming takes you. She'll let it slide. But next time, you will go through with it. Understand?”  
“Yes, sir.”   
He began to walk away. He called over his shoulder.   
“You have another assignment coming up. I suggest you prepare for it. You'll need to wear a dress.”   
The doors slammed closed as he finished his statement.   
The spider stood there, dumbfounded. What had just transpired?  
***  
“Auditing?!” Tracer exclaimed, annoyed at the order she had just been given.   
“Yes. Are you contesting an order from your commander?” The raspy voice of Jack Morrison demanded from behind his visor. He leaned forward instinctively, ready to hop into battle.   
“Bloody hell yes I am!” Tracer shouted, pacing angrily in front of him.   
“Whoa, darlin’. Calm down. Ain't nothin’ gonna come good of this protestin’.” McCree stuck his hand out, gently grasping Lena’s upper arm. She pulled away roughly but visibly lost tension.   
“Why can't I be an active agent in this case?” Tracer asked as calmly as she could.   
Remember; people are more likely to treat you with more respect.   
With that youth in mind, she stopped pacing and stood in front of Soldier’s desk.   
“You could have taken out one of Talon’s best operatives; the Widowmaker. Aptly named may I mention. Instead, you missed plenty of shots your training allowed you to hit at long distance and you prioritized to fans rather than staying focused on her and the other operative. Either you hold personal feelings here that see interfering with your abilities or you are forgetting your training. I am not sending an unprepared soldier into the field. Understand?”   
“You keep always address her as Widowmaker and the other guy as an operative when you know just as well as I do that he goes by Reaper. Why don't you call him by his name, Jack? Or are you an unprepared soldier, too?” Tracer bit out viciously, rage reignited at the insult.  
The room was dead quiet. Tracer pulled back, slightly confused. Tensions in the room were high and Tracer shifted a bit, almost nervous. The red glow of Jack’s visor was becoming more intimidating with every passing second.   
“Get out. You're off this mission and the next one.” Jack said deadly calm in a quiet voice.  
“But-” Tracer started to protest.   
“Now!” Soldier: 76 screamed.   
Tracer fled the room, genuinely afraid of her superior officer; even McCree took off running out of the room, closing the door behind him.  
“What the hell was his deal?” Lena asked her cowboy companion, brow furrowed.   
McCree was quiet for a second.  
“Jesse?” Lena asked hesitantly.   
“Ever heard of...Gabriel Reyes?” McCree responded.   
“Yeah. Wasn't he the guy who turned on Overwatch because he was power hungry or something?” The young woman replied.   
“Or something…” he shook his head.”Nah. Reyes was my commander. Head of Blackwatch, a secret operation agency. He was one of the best men I've ever met and almost a father figure. He was the glue. He got through to a recently traumatized and furious Genji and was able to talk some sense into my thick head. I don't know what happened but somethin’ big went down between Reyes and Morrison. The HQ was blown ta hell and he ghosted. And, well, ya know everythin’ else. It's just...something else happened between Reyes and Morrison. But I don't know what. Gabe was always tight-lipped, ya know? Never once heard him speak ‘bout his personal life except the fact he had a dog named Cat. He mentioned it one time when we were out partying after a mission gone good. For some reason that night, he went out with us. He never really did before. But that night he got drunk. And he told me all about how Morrison saved a cat one time but thought it was a puppy because it was so dirty and that the ex-farmer boy was an idiot. So he named his dog to joke with Jack.”  
“Okay...but how does that tie in with Reaper?”  
McCree let out a deep sigh.   
“Reaper? Well, he's Gabriel Reyes. Or at least the shell of Gabriel Reyes. The Gabe I knew would never pull the kinda fuckery that this shitwad has. Yeah, he could be an impulsive dumbass but Reyes was a good guy. Not a monster. The commanders were close. Went through the same super soldier program--always was a runnin’ joke that Morrison’s Captain America-lookin’ ass was because he was Cap incarnate.”  
“So Reaper equals Gabe and Gabe equals close friend to Morrison and that equals me being...Oh. Oh! Now I feel like a piece of shit. Why didn't someone say something?”  
“I tried to!” McCree said, throwing his hands in the air, exasperatesd.   
“When?!” Lena asked confused.   
“I tried to prompt you! And I couldn't give you the information because it wasn't revealed to anyone else yet! Hell, I only found out by accident!”  
“I just feel really bad now. Maybe I should go back and apologize?” Tracer glanced at the corridor behind her.   
McCree steered her away and pushed her forwards.   
“Nope. Nada. Ya’ ain't goin’ back there right now, darlin’. He ain't gonna be in a great mood and so it'll go ta shit and I don't wanna be in that mess. Again.”  
“So where are we going?”  
“Food. Sustenance. Anywhere but Morrison’s office.”   
Upon reaching the cafeteria, the duo grabbed a tray of junk food and plopped down on the comfy couch lined up against the wall. Tracer propped her feet up on McCree’s lap and dropped a Cheeto in her mouth.   
“So...you wanna talk about the mood swing?” McCree asked hesitantly, obviously uncomfortable.   
“Nope.” Tracer cut in quickly.   
“Okay.”   
The silence in the room was simultaneously awkward and comforting. And so they sat, eating chips and pondering about the true story of Morrison and Reyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a while... Happy Easter though! I'm back and filled with passion to write. Who knows, maybe chapter 3 will come sooner than later?


	3. Chapter 3

“I was impressed by your performance in London. Talon could use more operatives like you. Especially given recent lapses.” Akande said, face as smug as usual with an extra cockiness to his words.  
Amelie could feel that the loaded statement wasn’t directed at her.   
“You know you’re on the open channel.” Reaper’s gravelly voice came across the coms. He sounded more bitter than usual.  
Widowmaker held back a smile. Ever since that chat--or, rather, accusation--the relentless mercenary had been extra pissy. It was beyond his usual angst; it was almost pure rage and, well, darkness. That was not to say that the living nightmare was not always furious. On the contrary, he was always mad at something but his recent anger was only pure fury. Widow had a deep seated feeling it was partially what she said to him but also something else.   
“Right on cue.” Doomfist murmured with a small smirk.   
Everyone in Talon had noticed the Inner Council members significantly more sour mood. It seemed Akande was bored if he actually decided to make such a statement insulting everyone else on the line. In all honesty, Amelie was not at all surprised; in fact, she expected it. Doomfist was a brilliant man in general and was typically wrapped up in planning and himself. After their chat a day before, they had a sort of unspoken kinship in the sense she understood he was in it for himself no matter how much he deluded himself into thinking it was for the greater good and she knew what it felt like to have lost interest outside of the one thing that she cared about most.  
Suddenly, Sombra’s voice came over the coms.  
“Ask her about Saint Petersburg.” The sassy woman said, a smirk evident in her voice.  
Amelie froze; did Doomfist not know about that? She could not have predicted what would happen and, despite Talon already knowing about Sombra’s weak alliance to them, was not really given any information beyond the fact that Sombra had her own agenda. The cold woman was at fault; she at least acknowledged she had been better equipped to react with less emotion and more objectivity. That emotion she had felt on that crane...it was similar to surprise. An emotion she hated and wanted to cut out because it meant other emotions may return. Indeed, she was allowed to feel some extent of emotions but the feelings were typically negative. Annoyance and sadistic amusement were typically the ones she felt most often but occasionally, she would feel something like this, especially when she had not gone through reprogramming for a while. Those emotions were typically surprise, fear, and, the worst of all, remorse.   
“Spare me the commentary. Just let me know if anything seems out of the ordinary.” Reaper growled.   
Did the dark lord himself just defend the woman who insulted him and maliciously instigated him? She shook her head to clear those thoughts. No it couldn’t be. The monster only knew anger and was a sadist. There was no way he could actually be helping her. Right? Again she tried to drive those thoughts from her head telling herself they had a mission to complete.   
She said nothing and took in her surroundings. The seven-foot tall man was quite obviously able to take care of himself, an agent like her was not really necessary. No, she was the eye candy, the jewel of the casino. She played the part of the companion and a stranger would be inclined to believe they had some sort of relationship. However, given common knowledge that the casino was home to a plethora of crime organization meetings, there would be no doubt that she, the French spider, was involved in whatever shady business that the ripped man was.   
“You’re making me think you don’t trust him.” Sombra announced.  
Reaper did not answer but Akande did.  
“I don’t trust anyone.” Akande said to the people over the voice channel.   
He drove home the point by glancing around the rooms with only his eyes. They approached the table where a sophisticated Omnic sat. If he were human, he would definitively look like one of the classic businessman stereotypes but the fact he was not human elevated businessman into mobster territory.  
“Maximilien.” Doomfistsaid, inclining his head towards the robot.  
Widowmaker swept gracefully by Akande’s side, standing nearest to the table.  
“Akande.” Maxilmilien responded in the same tone of voice, dipping his head as well. His narrow eyes pierced Amelie’s gaze, the red glow only enhancing the amount of malice and sin the robot held.   
“How’s lady luck treating you tonight?” Akande asked, already knowing the response he was about to get from the other man.   
“You know there’s no such thing as luck. Otherwise, they might actually let us play the games.”   
Maximilien sounded as bitter and exasperated as an artificial lifeform could. Despite the Omnics now having more rights, there were still those logistics that prevented them from partaking in gambling. As pieces of technology, they could process things much faster and would give them a much higher chance of winning than a normal human.   
“Voulez-vous lancer les dés, madame?” An Omnic floorperson asked, seeing the blue-skinned woman leaning over the table.   
She was in a casino and dressed to not quite be undercover given the location and time but playing would sell it, wouldn’t it? It wasn’t like she ever got out much. With her skin pigmentation, it was impossible to blend in with a crowd. At least here, when in a den of sin, she could have some fun under the name of work.   
“Merci.” She responded with a coy smile.   
She tuned back into her boss’s conversation.  
“..surprised.” Akande stated, tone implicating he already knew what had been implied.  
“Prison is a hard place. Accidents happen all the time.” Maximilien stated carefully and was obviously searching for some sort of reaction out of Doomfist.  
“I’m very careful.” Akande replied, placing emphasis on the very.  
“Apparently.” Maximilien ended that train of thought.  
It was interesting to Amelie to observe the interactions between council members. She was trained partially in the arts of seduction and knew how to read other people’s emotions. She only ever saw coldness and invisible jabs between council members. There was no alliance just mutual yet unwilling respect as well as a healthy dose of fear. It was interesting watching a different type of dancing; skirting from the real message and instead giving one more vague that had even more implications.  
“And yet, plans have progressed even while you’ve been out of contact.” Maximilien had thrown yet another cloaked insinuation. “War between Omnics and humans seems all but inevitable…”  
Amelie flinched but tried to hide it by tightly grasping the die the other Omnic had given her. Another war… it was not like she had anything to lose so it wouldn’t matter to her, right? Then why did she feel a sudden shiver down her spine; a rather unpleasant one for clarification.  
“Les jeux sont faits, rien ne va plus.” The tinny voice rang.  
“...thanks in no small part to your friend here.” Maximilien glanced at Widowmaker, an appreciative and almost smug look in his glowing red eyes.  
“Tout le plaisir est pour moi.” Amelie purred after throwing the die.   
“Mes compliments.” The robotic Inner Councilman replied.  
“Sept!” The floorperson announced.  
Amelie had lost interest in the game and was now focused on listening to part of her boss’ conversation.  
“There are those in our organization who will be quite pleased to have you back, but some have concerns...about whether you will keep the money flowing.” Max obviously was once more implicating something more; the way he trailed off briefly following the word concerns just enforced it.   
Talon was not too concerned with funds. Plenty of its members had means of getting money but Akande just made it easier to avoid tapping into too many reserves at one time.  
“I will deal with them. They need to be reminded about their parts.” Doomfist responded firmly, looking at Max with a challenge in his gaze and a dark promise.  
It went unspoken that Doomfist felt that Maximilien was one of the people who needed that reminding. Everyone in the terrorist organization was finicky with their loyalties; they flocked to the person who would give them more or would obey those who scared them. Widow was only glad that everyone in Talon thought she was their compliant, mindless agent. She avoided being made an example of. The fact that Doomfist chose her over another agent was just proof to how valuable she was compared to the others. That was not to say that she thought she was anything special. On the contrary, she could easily be replaced by another brainwashed slave who would do just as well as a job but it was more the fact that Talon didn’t want to take the time to actually program and train another person.   
“I wonder my friend. You’re not as popular as you used to be. Many were happy to see you go away.” Maximilien was toeing the line yet was still providing Doomfist information.  
That was one of the reasons Akande did not just jump on him and tear him apart. Max had information and had proven to be a tentative ally to Doomfist.  
“Faites vos jeux.” The floor Omnic said, false traces of cheerfulness in his tone.  
Widow delicately placed her chips into the center pretending not to eavesdrop though the other two men who had been involved in a syndicate for so long could easily tell she was. They said nothing and continued their conversation.  
“Not you, of course.” Akande’s tone implied that he knew Max was up to something but also knew that the Omnic wold not easily betray him; when someone makes Akande angry and you witness it, well, let’s just say that it’s difficult to forget the consequences.  
“Of course not. We have history. And I respect a man with a vision.” Max replied smoothly, no sense of feeling affronted by the hidden accusation.  
“Heads up, boss. Company headed your way.” Sombra purred over the comms.   
Widow turned, taking in her possible victims. She hmphed. Really? They sent some basic guys in? Where was a challenge?  
“Then who are they?” Doomfist asked in a hard voice, glancing at the approaching men.   
“As I said...many were happy to see you go away.” Max said with a shrug.   
“Time to go, Lacroix.” Doomfist said, turning his body before moving his head.   
They took off running.   
“You know it's bad luck to leave the table when you're playing.” Max called to the people behind him.   
Doomfist lunges forward and swing at the closest approaching agent. Amelie rolled her eyes before throwing the dice behind her onto the table.   
“Watch my chips.” She said as she began to walk away.   
Doomfist punched another guy, sending him flying. Widowmaker spun, taking down a few more agents. She stepped on one of the men’s throats, digging her heel into his neck. Eventually, the pair were standing surrounded by unconscious or dead agents.   
“Overwatch?” Doomfist growled at one of the men who regained consciousness.   
“It would appear so,” Amelie muttered, pointing at the medallion with the logo sticking out of his pocket.   
“How did you find us?” Doomfist said coldly, lifting the man by his throat.   
“We got a tip. Our Commander sent us in.” The man choked out.   
Apparently satisfied by the answers, Akande snapped the agent’s neck cleanly.   
“Take care of this mess, Max. I'll see you in Venice.”  
“Viali tipped them off.” Doomfist told Widow as they walked out of the casino.   
“Figured as much,” she responded.   
She glanced around outside, feeling disappointed for some reason. Disappointed? She hesitated for a second. Akande noticed.   
“What are you waiting for?” He asked, a single brow raised.   
“Nothing.” Amelie spun to face him before stalking ahead of him.   
Of course that was a lie; she knew where her disappointment stemmed from and she would be damned if she admitted it to herself much less herself.   
***  
“Dammit!” Tracer exclaimed.   
She had just heard all the agents she had sent in die. In seconds. To the hands of an escaped inmate and an unforgettable femme fatale.  
“What happened?” McCree asked, stepping into the van with two steaming cups.   
One was decaf tea and the other one was a coffee with an extra vavavoom of whiskey. Tracer slammed her hand on the desk, completely livid.   
“She killed them! All of them! I have to write more letters to wives and kids telling them that their spouses died while operating an illegal organization trying to save the world.”  
“Hold your horses, darlin’. The agents died but was it just Widowmaker’s fault or was there other Talon agents there?”   
Tracer took a deep breath trying to collect herself. She knew that Doomfist had done most of the killing but that didn't mean Widow was innocent. She had done her fair share.   
“There were others there. And I never said it was just her fault.”  
McCree raised a brow.  
“Okay. Maybe I did. But still!”  
“If I didn't know any better, I'd say you’ve taken a likin’ to ‘er.” McCree said in a playful tone.   
“No! She's repulsive! It doesn't matter she has perfect physique or can match me in combat or that...well shit then. But still!”  
McCree laughed.   
“Look, it's fine to find someone you're supposed to hate attractive.” He said vaguely.   
Tracer zoomed in on the vagueness of that statement.   
“So you find someone attractive that you're supposed to hate.” She stated with a smirk.   
“What? No! No, I don't.” He said with wide eyes.   
“Methinks thou doth protest too much. Who's the lucky person?” Tracer asked.   
“Not that it's your business but they hurt someone I cared about a while ago.”  
Tracer let out a low whistle.   
“That's a big oof. Well, it seems we're both fucked up in our interests.”  
She sighed.   
“And I have to talk to Soldier now to tell him what happened. If only I had gone in…”  
“Hate to be a party pooper, but you got wasted by Doomfist. Your experience ain't worth anythin’ if ya can't hold your own.”   
She huffed but didn't argue. McCree was right about that. If Winston hadn't intervened then she probably wouldn't be walking.   
“Anyways, see ya soon!” The cowboy said cheerfully.  
Lena grabbed her tea and walked outside to call her commander and tell him what happened.   
****  
Another successful mission. Viali was no longer a problem for Doomfist and things were back to normal, well at least as normal as a terrorist organization can run. She had gotten the chance to take down some of the agents Viali had set up, getting herself back into the swing of things aim and fluidity wise. There was no hesitation in pulling the trigger; each shot was precise and accurate. Perched on the rooftop, she had clear line of sight on a majority of the agents below. She cleared her head from everything except the kickback of her widow’s kiss and the mist of blood that glided through the air.   
The color red. The color of a heart. The color of love. The color of war. The color of lust. The color of blood. The color of life.   
Amelie didn’t have a heart. Amelie didn’t love. Amelie was always at war, a soldier in a battle against humanity. Amelie could lust but she forbade herself from it. Her blood no longer ran red. It was a purple color, a mixture of who she had been and what she had become. The spray of red was a thing that inspired a feeling of almost jealousy. It showed that they were human, that they could love, but most importantly, they were alive.   
But she was not alive.   
And she hated it.  
But it was the only thing that kept her going.  
And she couldn’t feel anything.  
But that was okay.  
Wasn’t it?  
“Widowmaker. Training room. Now.” barked Reaper who had been surprisingly quiet as of late.  
Amelie sighed and pushed herself off the floor where she collapsed the second she got back into the compound.  
“Je viens.” She said, rolling her eyes.  
Upon reaching the room, she found the cloaked man tapping his foot, clearly annoyed that Widowmaker hadn’t just magically appeared when he demanded her presence ten minutes ago.   
“What do you want?” Amelie asked flatly.  
“Walk with me.” He turned on his heel, not checking to see if she would actually go with him.  
She stood there, debating whether or not to go before throwing caution to the wind and dashing after him, long blue hair getting in her face before she pulled it back into a ponytail as she ran.   
Eventually she caught up with the eternally angsty man and they went into a dark room.   
The design was minimalist and the only thing was a bed that looked like the person who had been sleeping had a nightmare and was throwing sheet all over. The nightstand had only a small, dull lamp and a picture frame next to it.  
Reaper walked over and grabbed the photo, just gazing down at it. Widowmaker couldn’t see his face so she had no idea what he was feeling but the mood in the room had lost tension and almost had an air of nostalgia. With a sharp exhale, the mercenary turned quickly and held out his hand, offering her the photograph.  
“That’s him and myself.” He pointed at the two man respectively.  
Widow looked at the photo and was hit with a sudden wave of sadness. It was uncomfortable but she also felt it wasn’t quite right to walk out now. It could be a trick but to hell with it. This was something that mattered to Reaper even if this was some sort of ploy.  
“They look happy.” Amelie murmured.  
There was a blond man who had his arm around an olive-skinned man. Both of them were wearing suits and the blond had military pins on his jacket. They were both laughing and there was an obvious fondness in their eyes.  
“I was happy. And it hurts. Every fucking second kills me.” Reaper growled.  
“This was you.” Amelie said, pointing at the darker toned man. It wasn’t a question; if anything it was a statement of fact.  
“Yes. And that was him…that was...it was Jack.” HIs voice got incredibly smaller with each pause.  
“Were you lovers?” Widowmaker asked softly.  
“No! God no. But I loved him. God, I loved him. Too much. I never wanted to leave him but that day at the HQ… something happened. And now I’m this...monster and he’s… well we’re on opposite sides of the battlefield. Once comrades, now enemies. How fucked up is that?”   
The man sounded close to tears. This wasn’t the Reaper anymore. This was Gabriel Reyes, the commander of Blackwatch and a man who had his heart broken.  
“To me, and I should know--after all, I’m French--you still sound like you love him.” Amelie said carefully and gently.  
She had no idea what to do and her brain was on autopilot and for some reason, her autopilot wasn’t cruel or emotionless. It was almost human. Like she had some sort of empathy.  
He let out a laugh, one that definitely sounded like he was about to cry.   
“You’re not wrong. You’re not even...fucking...wrong,” Gabriel managed to choke out.  
“You know, you can take your mask off. Right now with me here.” Amelie spoke as if she were talking to a vulnerable, cornered animal.  
And she meant more than removing the mockery of a skull that covered his face; she meant that he could be vulnerable and cry. Reaper reached up to his mask and unclipped his mask. Widowmaker barely concealed her flinch. The Gabriel in the picture looked nothing like the creature standing before her. The inside of his right cheek and cheekbone were visible, black smoke constantly trying to mend itself but failing. His eyes were black, that warm gentle brown gone, replaced by bottomless pits. Instead of brown skin, he was ghostly pale, similar to that of an ashen dead body. But any ounce of instinctive fear was washed away by pity and empathy as she saw tears run down his face. He looked...lost.  
“What should...what should I do?” He asked, sounding like a small child despite towering over her.  
“I don’t know Gabriel...I don’t know.” Amelie murmured into his hood as he bent over and leaned into her. “And I wish I knew, believe me.”  
Hell, even she didn’t know what she should do with herself and how to save herself from the mess she had put herself in, much less how to deal with feelings that had been slowly coming back to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 updaates in less than a week? Say what? Chapter 4 is already in the works so expect it in about a week if that. I hope you enjoyed it. Have a fantastic day!


	4. Chapter 4

“‘I’m sorry sir.” Tracer mumbled, looking at the ground.  
“They were new recruits, Oxton! You see a problem, you get in there! My God, I knew it was a bad idea trying to put you anywhere near the field of leading.” Soldier: 76 yelled, slamming his hands on the desk.  
“Morrison, I tried! Okay? I tried. But you gave me a strict order and I followed it. So, yeah, I didn’t intervene. It was a bad idea especially given she was there.” Tracer yelled back, a dangerous glint in her eyes,  
“Who? Your maniacal girlfriend?” Soldier growled.  
“Not that your boyfriend is any better!” Tracer snapped back.  
The room was quiet. There wasn’t even a single breath.  
“He wasn’t.” The old man muttered.  
“Huh?” Tracer asked, surprised that he wasn’t kicking her out.  
“Him...Gabriel… he wasn’t mine. He never was or could be.” He choked on Reaper’s real name.  
“I’m quite confused, sir. Were you not together? Like, in love?” Lena asked, cocking her head to the side.  
Morrison let out a bitter chuckle.  
“Well, I was at least. I could never read him; one second he was all over me and was about to kiss me and then the next he would disappear for days on end and come back with fresh hickies on his neck. Everytime he was about to kiss me, he would run off and be marked by someone else.” This was no longer the tough, grough Commander Morrison turned vigilante. No, this person, this man in front of her, this was Jack Morrison, the farm boy from Illinois and who had a best friend and a broken heart.  
“Then I had Vincent. He was fantastic; he wanted to get married. But I couldn’t do it. Not when I was in love with someone else, not when I craved their brief words or nod of acknowledgement over that of the loving kisses of a good man. So eventually I broke it off with Vincent, telling it was because I had too much going on. He was good about it; I hurt him but he was such a good man... then Gabriel suddenly came back to me and asked if he could run a black ops. He tried to run away from me. It pushed me over the edge. I shut everyone except Ana out. Then, that day in the HQ… that day…” Jack’s voice trailed off.  
“Commander, I’m sorry.” Tracer said gently, apologizing for more than just making him think back to the painful past and for being irresponsible on her assignment.  
“Oxton, it’s not you.” Jack sighed. “Recently, I have been snappier than normal. I’m sorry, you don’t deserve taking my shit. I got a note a few weeks ago and well… here. You read it.”  
He reached into his pocket and gently unfolded the note.  
Tracer moved closer slowly and took the note from him.  
My Dearest Jack,  
No matter how far we are from each other, worlds, miles, sides. No matter, I will find you, Jack. I will find you.  
Lo Sincerely,  
There was no name under who signed it.  
“It’s his handwriting. It’s Gabriel’s handwriting. And I can’t. I don’t know what to feel, how to react. It has opened a wound I have worked so hard to close.”  
“Why are you telling me this?” Lena asked him. “Why not Ana?”  
“Because she wouldn’t understand it. Being miles apart, sides apart, lives apart from someone you love. You get it, I get it. And I trust you. I don’t let just anybody head a mission or command agents.”  
“Yeah, I do.” And she really did.  
****  
“I really don’t wanna be here in a dress.” Lena whined, pulling at Emily to let her go.  
“Nope.” She responded popping the ‘p’.  
There was a ball in France hosted by Gerard Lacroix in an attempt to lure out Talon agents. Commander Morrison had called all hands on deck so Tracer brought in Emily to maintain cover. And because Emily deserved an outing for dealing with Lena’s childish bullshit.  
“It’s embarrassing!” Lena complained. “I can’t move in it and I hate wearing heels!”  
She hated the elegant blue dress that hugged her chest with a plunging neckline and long skirt. It limited her movements and was just pissing her off. The heels made it even worse; she almost fell down five times since she got out of the limo to the gates of the estate. She had to admit she looked rather good but that meant nothing if she would be less than adequate for the task.  
Before leaving the compound, Commander Morrison and Commander Reyes had told them that Emily and her had to pretend to be a couple for the night.  
^^^^^  
“Look, if I have to put up with this All-American man, you can deal with a sweet British girl.” Reyes said, punching Jack in the shoulder lightly and slinging his arm around the blond man, the hint of a smile on his face.  
The paler man turned bright red and stumbled over his next words.  
“So, yeah, um,” he cleared his throat and took a deep breath before continuing,”Gabriel and myself will be posing as a couple and so will Ana and Reinhardt. Genji will be in the shadows outside and McCree will be posing as a bartender. Angela is on site in the crowd and well-hidden. Good luck out there and make progress.” Morrison had managed to collect himself though his ears were still red.  
Gabriel was trying not to laugh and Jack huffed as he pulled the slightly taller man behind him into a separate vehicle.  
“Aw. They’re so cute,” Emily gushed, watching the two men go.  
Tracer giggled. “Yes, they are, aren’t they.”  
^^^^^  
Emily looked stunning in her simple emerald green mermaid-style gown. She looked like a snack.  
When Lena told her that, she laughed and opened the door to the mansion.  
Tracer’s breath was taken away. The chandeliers were gold with crystals catching the light and refracting it. The dancefloor was already swarming with the upper-class members of society and Overwatch agents alike. Lena felt self-conscious when she saw the other women in ball gowns that probably cost more than her salary for the past 4 years. Unlike the other women here, she was a soldier and a fighter. She wasn’t completely dainty or demure. She was loud, boisterous and scarred from the battlefield. Instead of daintily painted nails, hers were chewed from thinking and worrying. Instead of soft palms, she had callouses from years of training and handling weaponry. She wasn’t at all like the other women here and it was nerve wracking. She managed to stay in the building for the next few hours but eventually started feeling choked so she stepped out onto the battlement overlooking the gardens below before descending down the spiral staircase to the aforementioned location. She walked to a bench that was near a beautiful, glowing fountain and sat down, swinging her legs into a comfortable position and leaning her head on her hands.  
“You came out here to get away as well, beau?” A sultry voice asked, softly from behind her.  
Lena shot up and whipped out a gun, pointing it at the direction she heard the voice.  
A woman stepped out from the rows of roses and flowers. She wore a stunning, simple dark purple gown. It was a 3/4 -sleeve of purple chiffon and a cinched waist emphasizing her hourglass figure. The gown swept on the ground and Lena’s mouth watered when she took in the rest of the woman.  
She had beautiful gold eyes that glimmered with mischief and mystery beyond just being illuminated by the gentle lights in the fountain. Her high cheekbones could cut diamonds and her full bottom lip was perfect for nibbling. Her long brown hair was pulled back into an artfully messy braid with what seemed like diamonds sprinkled into the strands. She had minimal makeup on and her naturally long lashes brushed her cheek as she slowly blinked.  
“Chèri?” The woman asked in a concerned voice.  
Tracer shook her head.  
“Uh, yes! Hi, um , my name’s Lena. Lena Oxton.” Lena’s face was flushed, she got caught checking out this hot lady.  
The other woman laughed; it sounded like music, like the perfect note that one can never hit when trying to sing a song.  
“Moi c’est Amelie. Amelie...Guillard.” The woman responded.  
“You’re pretty… I mean, your name! Your name is pretty!” She wanted to punch herself.  
“Why thank you, and you yourself are gorgeous.” Amelie purred.  
Tracer flushed.  
“So, um, what are you doing out here?” Lena asked awkwardly.  
Why the actual fuck could she not flirt?  
“These things just aren’t my cup of tea. You on the other hand, mon amour, are.”  
Amelie glided to the bench Tracer had just been sitting in and gestured to Lena to join her. She sat down nervously, leg bouncing. The stunning woman giggled at Tracer.  
“Oi, whatcha laughin’ at?” Lena asked defensively.  
“You. You’re adorable. So, are you one of the agents here to protect my husband?”  
Lena froze. Oh shit. Was she flirting--no, scratch that--was Amelie flirting with her even though she was married to the person Tracer was supposed to be protecting tonight?  
“You’re Amelie Lacroix?” Lena asked, surprised.  
Lena had been expecting more of a demure woman the picture perfect of innocence, angelic- looking with golden locks and wide blue eyes. She was not prepared for a flirtatious, brown haired woman with a great figure and mischievous golden eyes.  
“In the flesh.” The taller woman said with a sarcastic bow.  
“They didn’t place a security detail on you?” Tracer asked, tipping her head to the side and frowning.  
“I requested they didn’t. They tried. I escaped.” Amelie rolled her eyes. ”You’re not going to rat me out, are you?”  
“Um, no? I mean, yes, I mean…” Lena buried her face in her hands.  
A gentle hand guided her head up. Golden eyes met brown ones.  
“Please don’t tell them. I hate it. Guns scare me. After my… after Ciel… Nevermind.” Amelie shook her head.  
“I guess so long as I’m here with you, you’re safe.” Tracer mused.  
Amelie’s face lit up.  
“Thank you!” She threw her arms around the younger woman, leaving Lena blushing.  
All of a sudden, Amelie shot up and pulled Lena with her.  
“Let’s go somewhere else.” She whispered, glancing back over her shoulder at the small British woman she was dragging behind her.  
*****  
That had been a different time, a different place. Now, she was alone. Again.  
Jack cleared his throat.  
“Sorry, sir.” She mumbled.  
“Anyway, I have paperwork to get back to.” He slumped down in his seat.  
Tracer noticed that the papers on his desk were all upside down when he picked them up.  
She bowed her head and walked out of the office.  
******  
“Again.” Widow purred into the ear of a recruit.  
He gulped.  
“What are you waiting for?” she snarled, pulling away, golden eyes flashing.  
“S-sorry ma’am.” He said, bowing his head.  
He turned and tried to launch himself across the building but missed the ledge to kick off and plummeted straight down off the roof. There was a scream and a crunch as his head smacked the rocks below.  
The drill today was one she had to run because it was her area of expertise; jumping from building to building, timing with a grappling hook, and proceeding to shoot mid-fall and then recovering safely.  
She forced herself to roll her eyes and huffed.  
“Well, now you have an example of what not to do. So who’s next?” She said darkly, full lips curling up at the edges to a mocking grin.  
All the new agents-in-training shifted uncomfortably. She picked one at random.  
“You.” Amelie pointed to one of the men. “C'est à votre tour maintenant. Grab a hook and choose your rifle.”  
The man was skittish but followed Widowmaker’s instruction.  
“Now, do you know how to fire it?”  
“Yeah. You pull the trigger and--”  
“No.” The other recruits laughed at him. Amelie almost felt bad in whatever capacity she could but she forced it down and sneered at him.  
“Are you trying to be smart with me?” She snarled.  
The man flinched.  
“No ma’am. I’m just nervous. I hate--”  
“No one asked for a monologue, Jeremy.” One of the recruits called out.  
The rest of them hooted with laughter. Jeremy’s face was bright red but he stood his ground.  
“Yes, I know the physics behind a grappling hook and how to use it.” He replied, looking at the ground.  
“Very well then. Show us what you’ve got.” Widowmaker said, stepping backwards.  
Jeremy gulped but walked over to the edge to scout out the drop and distance. He had a furrowed brow and stood there at least a minute.  
“What are you waiting for, God to whisper in your ear the secrets of the universe or are you going to get a move on?” Widowmaker barked out.  
Jeremy hurried to where he had been before, not looking at anyone or anything except his target. Amelie was impressed; that was one of the key things beginners forgot to do; keep your eyes on the prize. The man took off running and jumped the second his feet touched the ledge, springing off it and launching himself across the air. He turned and scoped in on the target 115 meters below and pulled the trigger before he shot his hook; it landed perfectly on the upper wall of the next building and he smoothly landed on the other roof. Widowmaker was impressed; never before had she seen any recruit nail it without being severly injured or dying in the process.  
There was complete silence except for the wind howling, everyone was shocked that he scrawny looking recruit had not only achieved a smooth landing but also--Amelie peered over the edge--hitting two shot perfectly on the heart and head.  
“Anyone here think they can do better than that?” Amelie asked, raising an eyebrow.  
Suddenly, one of the burlier boys thrust his hand in the air.  
“If that runt can do it, so can I.” He said confidently.  
Widow bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. One of the reasons beyond the fact that Jeremy definitely knew what he was doing was his body type; it was streamlined and light enough that there would be less forces acting on him that would slow down reaction time and prevent accurate landing.  
“Be my guest,” Amelie said, throwing out her arm to present the box of tricks.  
“I think I will.” The bulky man said with a smirk and he winked at her.  
Without thinking, she swung and knocked him flat on his ass. He looked up at her with fear.  
“To disrespect a senior agent here is punishable by death; I sincerely hope for your sake you never pull that on someone else.” Then she broke his nose.  
A cough in the distance caught her attention; she met eyes with Doomfist who was looking at her, calculating.  
Shit. Oh well. She had intended to show mercy but it appeared that if she wanted to keep her life, she must punish the man accordingly. With a sigh, she hefted up the man and dragged him over to the edge.  
“Sorry, agent.” She murmured.  
A well-placed kick to the center of the chest threw him off the roof. His screams were fading as he fell until a sickly satisfying crack sounded. Widowmaker turned to glance back to where she had seen Akande standing but saw nothing there. She mentally shook her head but forced herself not to reveal any inner thoughts. She stared blankly at the other recruits.  
“So. Who’s next?”  
She spent the next hour annoyed as two of the recruits nearly hanged themselves with the string, another one missed and slammed into the side of the building, and two more missed and plunged to their deaths.  
“Alright,” Amelie spoke to the crowd, liquid amber eyes scanning the group. “Those of you who made it across, you are dismissed. Those of you that did not...Well, you stay here until you do.” She cast a glare at the significant amount of men who had dozens of bruises who cowered under her gaze. They had learned over the course of the past few hours that Widowmaker was not a person to be crossed; she was the prized assassin and had no heart.  
“Again.” She purred, a sadistic grin gracing her face.  
Maybe she could bury these new feelings under being more cruel. She had to give it a try. And try she did.  
By the time she finished up, three more men were dead and another five were injured. She focused on the exasperation as opposed to the sadness and guilt she had begun to feel.  
She could feel eyes on her the whole session but never caught anyone staring that was worthy of the natural fear she felt crawling up her back.  
*****  
“How is progress going?” A rich voice with an Irish accent asked, the sound of fabric shifting as the woman templed her fingers under her sharp chin.  
“Very well, Doctor.” Akande’s voice boomed throughout the hollow chamber overlooking the practice range.  
The massive Nigerian man turned with a sly smirk on his face. The red head responded with a curt curl of her lips.  
“We shall let it be and watch her fall. And watch Overwatch fall alongside her.”

**Author's Note:**

> I put the words that I wanted to translate into Swiss-Gerrman inside {} because I don't speak the language and I know the internet is not always the best translation. If any of you guys know Swiss-German and can tell me how to properrly translate it I would be extremely grateful. Thanks for reading by the way! I'm working on Chapter 2 right now and I plan to have it out by the end of September. Until next time, have a great week!


End file.
